


sehnsucht (or, kiss me on the mouth and set me free)

by jo2ukes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Spoilers for Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Ultimate Yearning (TM), an attempt was made at consistent tense usage but. it is what it is, route agnostic, tfw ur emotionally constipated but also trying to tell someone u care them, world's loosest five and one fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23553553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jo2ukes/pseuds/jo2ukes
Summary: Whatever their relationship is, it seems a sad pile of almosts. Almost touches. Almost kisses. Almost confessions. Almost fulfilled desires.They are each other’s almost. And that should be enough. And it is, but somehow it isn’t.
Relationships: Dedue Molinaro/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, special thanks to NorthSong for beta'ing and offering insight and inspiration <3

I. The Greenhouse, Harpstring Moon

Hubert would prefer to grow his plants in the confines of his room. It isn’t that he’s particularly secretive about what he grows, he simply prefers to work uninterrupted. Unfortunately, his room at Garreg Mach isn’t as spacious as his rooms back at the von Vestra manor. The fortunate thing, at least, is that monastery staff don’t seem to care much what goes on in the greenhouse and, without specialized knowledge, the things he grows are relatively harmless. They’re not pretty, certainly not worth gifting, so the other students who bustle in and out of the greenhouse leave well enough alone. As he enters the greenhouse, he has the audacity to hope for the briefest moment that he’ll be granted solitude as he works, but it seems fate has other plans.

Dimitri’s retainer hulks over one of the beds, kneeling to carefully examine the soil. They’ve interacted only a handful of times, Dedue- like Hubert- largely preferring to keep to himself. He looks up as Hubert enters, the two of them regarding each other with tentative silence. After the briefest moment, Dedue offers a simple nod, turning back to his work, and Hubert can breathe a sigh of relief. 

Neither are keen on idle chatter. Where others would force a conversation, try to find common ground, prattle on about something meaningless like the weather, and offer empty lines of pleasantries, he and Dedue seem content simply to exist in the same space with the understanding there’s no need to force camaraderie. He can certainly appreciate the blessed silence, the ability to concentrate on his work and be left to his thoughts without having to entertain anyone else. 

Hubert walks to his back corner of the greenhouse, stooping down beside his plants, gently brushing his gloved fingers over the sprouts and checking for blooms. The plants he’s transposed from their home in his room in Enbarr seem to be regaining some of their health- the journey having upset some of them. There must be something about the monastery air or the soil. Even those he planted upon arrival at the monastery seem to be growing quickly, sprouting and holding healthy color. 

There are blooms he should harvest, weeds he should remove, soil samples he should pull, but his mind can do little else aside from take note of the tasks in front of him. He finds, rather than studying his plants, his eyes keep flicking to Dedue’s form, finally admitting to himself that he’s curious. Of course, he’s already learned perhaps everything he needs to know about Dedue. Being able to observe, to read and understand everyone he comes in contact with is a survival skill. But Dedue… he’s much harder to read. Not in the sense that Hubert can’t understand what he’s thinking or what he must be feeling. That all comes fairly naturally. Dedue wears a familiar mask, one Hubert dons as well. When you serve someone so carefully, so closely, you fade into the background. It is important- _ essential _ \- that everything fall secondary to the desires of your liege. And so, Dedue softens his expressions. He keeps quiet, constantly aware of how he presents, how he reflects upon his lord, Dimitri. It’s a silent language Hubert speaks fluently.

No, what is difficult to read and understand about Dedue is more of a  _ why.  _ And ultimately it may have more to do with Hubert than Dedue himself. Why is Hubert so captivated, so curious, so entranced by each of his movements? He poses no threat to Lady Edelgard- at least not yet, though there’s always the possibility. Even so, there is nothing to study. Nothing further to know. Dedue is strong, fiercely loyal, incredibly intelligent. All easy enough to surmise within moments of meeting him- all learned in the span of a quick conversation. The fact that the rest of the students seem to brush it off and treat him so poorly does nothing more than prove their own stupidity. Dimitri seems the exception to the rule, always speaking highly of his retainer, of his skills and abilities and good nature- proving that the crown prince of Faerghus, at least, has some modicum of intelligence. 

He must reiterate to himself once again that, while basic enough in their own right, these points of Dedue’s personality are really all Hubert needs. All Lady Edelgard needs. Anything else is self indulgent, and self indulgence is a skill Hubert did not believe he possessed. So then, naturally it is strange and entirely foreign that Hubert would feel such a desire to know and observe more. There is no need for Lady Edelgard to know how warm Dedue’s skin is or what it feels like to have his breath ghost against your neck. She doesn’t need to know what sorts of jokes he laughs at or what his lips taste like. By extension, there’s no need for Hubert to know or wonder about these things, but he can’t seem to stop his mind from wandering and indulging in such unhelpful thoughts.

“Hubert,” a voice interrupts his runaway curiosity not a moment too soon. He blinks, the present finally coming back to him. “I have extra gardening gloves, should you wish to use them.” Dedue says, glancing down at Hubert’s hands. He hasn’t moved from his position kneeling at a flower bed just across the way from Hubert, but it seems he’s been regarding Hubert just as carefully. Observing his movements.

“No, thank you,” Hubert says coolly, evenly. He keeps his glance brief, hoping the heat he’s feeling in his cheeks isn’t obvious enough to betray the nature of his thoughts to Dedue.

“Two parts water, one part Magdred Kirsch oil. For when you wash them. It lifts dirt rather well.”

Hubert nods in thanks.

Dedue stands, wordlessly setting down a watering can beside Hubert, before retreating back to his original position across the greenhouse. Hubert starts to open his mouth in protest- surely Dedue knows he’s perfectly capable of tending to his plants on his own, but Dedue seems to read his expression easily enough, cutting Hubert off before he even has the chance to start.

“I did not want to prevent you from being able to work,” Dedue explains, turning on the greenhouse’s only spigot. “I am not used to the heat,” he says sheepishly, shedding his uniform jacket. He folds it neatly, placing it on the wood frame of one of the beds, so as not to dirty it. Hubert almost laughs. “Heat” isn’t the word he’d use to describe the weather they’re experiencing- certainly not compared to how warm the season in Enbarr can get. But, being from the northern parts of Faerghus, it does make sense Dedue would find even more mild temperatures to be unbearable.

His laugh catches in his throat, however, drinking in the sight of Dedue sans the bulk of his uniform. It isn’t difficult to tell Dedue is well built, even with the layers of clothing the monastery has the students wear. It’s just truly hard to  _ appreciate  _ the solid strength his body holds.

Not that Hubert should be appreciating- he has plants to tend to, so he can move on to his countless other duties.

But he is appreciating. It’s practically impossible not to. The sweat glistening on Dedue’s skin has pulled the loose material of his undershirt much closer to his frame, the fabric clinging desperately to the bulge of his muscles. He watches as Dedue moves, pooling his hands under the spigot as cool water pours out. The glistening beads of water bounce off his skin, gently rolling down his hands, leaving wet trails in their wake.

Dedue brings his hands to his face, splashing the water against his skin, letting it drip down his neck and chest, soaking into his shirt and leaving trails of gooseflesh. Hubert finds himself fixated on one particular drop that slowly makes its way from Dedue’s cheek, gently settling on the edge of his top lip. He watches it slowly follow the curve of Dedue’s mouth and his fingers itch.

He busies his hands plucking blooms here and there, incapable of untangling his gaze from Dedue’s form. His mind is hardly distracted by the task he’s attempting to concentrate on. Instead, he finds himself imagining what it would be like to remove his gloves, close the distance between them and run his fingers along the edge of Dedue’s lips, following the trails made by each of the water droplets. He wonders if Dedue would flinch at the cold contact of his skin, or if he is capable of providing any sort of relief in the form of a soft or soothing touch, a respite from the heat plaguing Dedue’s skin.

All at once the illusion is shattered when Dedue turns off the spigot, brushing a hand over his face and back through his hair, and Hubert comes crashing back to reality.

His daydreams… observations… whatever other ludicrous terms he deigns to call them, are a one-time moment of weakness, and Hubert is determined to ensure they won’t happen again. While it isn’t the first time he has appreciated the form of another, he is usually capable of avoiding such unhelpful thoughts altogether. Even worse, Lady Edelgard requires him to be more diligent than ever if their plans are to proceed as intended. He hasn’t the time for such distractions.

In the end, he supposes it doesn't matter. It’s foolish, but these thoughts won’t go anywhere. They won’t lead to anything. They can’t.

“Good afternoon, Hubert,” Dedue says quietly, offering a nod before picking up his jacket- keeping it neatly folded and away from his wet torso- and turning to walk out of the greenhouse.

Hubert allows himself one more observation, noting his mouth has never felt more dry in his entire life. He swallows thickly.


	2. Chapter 2

II. The Infirmary, Blue Sea Moon

If Dedue didn’t know better, he would have thought Hubert was made of glass- fragile and all sharp edges, a breath away from shattering into a million pieces. Having witnessed Hubert’s prowess firsthand on the battlefield, Dedue knows thinking of him as anything other than capable and deadly is folly. But when news travels through the monastery that Hubert is confined to the infirmary for an indefinite amount of time- the exact nature of his injuries pure speculation as each source has a different description of what ails him- Dedue can’t shake the inexplicable panic eating away at his gut. Hubert will recover, of course. Professor Manuela knows what she’s doing and, despite how it may appear, Hubert is made of sturdier stuff.

It is foolish and pointless to worry. What’s more, Hubert’s injuries should be none of his concern. Rather, they  _ are  _ none of his concern. His responsibilities do not involve Hubert, his well-being has no bearing on Dimitri or the others in his class. Yet, Dedue finds himself in the infirmary, in the dead of night, long after the sun has set, long after the other students have turned in. 

Friendship is perhaps the easiest word for what they have, though it feels a different beast entirely. Perhaps it is the orchestration of the gods (though Hubert would undoubtedly scoff at such thoughts)- a handful of repeated run-ins turning into intentional meetings. Mutual curiosity and understanding blossoming into… whatever it is they share. Reluctantly, he and Hubert have fallen into step, into an easy sense of companionship. Hubert is… odd. Stiff and proper, yet quite obviously hiding something, like so many of the nobles Dedue has encountered throughout his years in Faerghus. What Hubert hides feels different, deeper than the shallow secrets that permeate court intrigue. While Dedue cares little for such secrets and gossip, he is curious what sorts of secrets would plague someone like Hubert von Vestra. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to assume they are of the sinister sort- Hubert makes no attempt to pretend he is anything other than what rumors make him out to be: fiercely loyal, unflinching, cruel and deadly to his enemies. 

In the short conversations they’ve had, Dedue has realized that, perhaps, Hubert’s ominous demeanor and obvious effort to be off-putting is just a way of hiding  _ more _ . While it may be a true facet of his personality, and while he may use it to hide darker things, it’s serving the double purpose of hiding the exact sort of person Hubert is. And that’s what makes Dedue so interested- happy to move in closer- despite the warnings his instincts put forth. Between the two of them, nothing is forced or falsified- guarded, maybe, but not outright dishonest. There’s no need for the facades they put up around others. Because of this, Dedue feels he’s one of the few people who have managed to observe flickers of the  _ real  _ Hubert, making it easier to note that, for all the ways Hubert is similar to the other nobles, he’s different in at least a hundred other ways. 

At any rate, their friendship is what led him to volunteer for extra chores- specifically, night rounds in the infirmary, changing bedsheets and ensuring none of the students’ conditions had worsened or require additional attention. Selfish as it may be, the other students are far from his mind. He is here to put his own fears to rest.

At first, the infirmary seems deadly silent, all the students asleep. Dedue is able to work with relative speed, moving closer and closer to the far end of the room- he almost worries Hubert has decided to sneak out, injuries be damned, until he rounds a corner and notices a weak flame dancing in the distance, perched atop a small candle.

He ignores the skip of excitement in his heartbeat, knowing he’s finally found Hubert, instead focusing on his task of carrying an armful of sheets back toward the door before dumping them into a wicker basket. He moves slowly, as if wanting to convince himself his spirits haven’t lifted considerably, as though he can hide the truth from himself. He makes a mental note to carry the basket of sheets down to the washrooms at the very least. If Hubert truly is to remain in the infirmary for several days, he knows the morning staff will have their hands full as it is.

Once his arms are empty, he moves to pick up a tray he’d set down on one of the entry tables. He’s grateful the rest of the infirmary seems to be asleep- the meal an obvious admission to his eagerness to volunteer for night duty, despite the painstaking steps he’s taken to not draw extra attention to himself.

Hubert straightens as Dedue draws nearer, looking up from the parchment he’s been scribbling on. His glance is defiant at first (likely having been told by the night staff to put out his candle and sleep), but his gaze quickly softens once he recognizes Dedue.

“You came,” he says, almost incredulously. He sits back against the pillows, pushing his parchment into a messy pile before reaching to place the stack on a small bedside table. Dedue sets his tray on the floor and moves to help him, his eyes catching sight of the bandages snaking their way around Hubert’s right arm, all the way up to his shoulder. Hubert gently brushes him away, as if determined to prove he can still function, as though Dedue’s presence is a test to surmise how quickly he is healing, how capable he really is. He motions for Dedue to sit on the chair beside his bed.

“You should be resting,” Dedue chides gently. “I assume you are aware of the hour?”

“Painfully so,” Hubert admits. “Though, the hours I keep shouldn’t matter much. I have nothing to do tomorrow other than lie still in this blasted bed. I may as well take advantage of this time while I can. You, on the other hand, have a far greater need for sleep than I.”

“I… could not sleep,” Dedue admits. “I was anxious to see which of the rumors were true.”

Hubert cocks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth upturning mischievously.

“Ah,” he laughs lightly. “Of course. Well, I can assure you, they’re not as devastating as some of the others would have you believe.”

He sits a little straighter, holding out his right arm for observation. Dedue notes his attempt to hide his sharp intake of breath- rather than showing any outward signs of pain or weakness, Hubert instead opts to hold it in his chest, refusing to let on that he’s in  _ actual  _ pain.

Dedue lets his fingers ghost gently over the bandages, not wanting to disturb their careful placement, but he can’t help the sympathetic  _ tsk _ that escapes his mouth when he realizes they do not stop at Hubert’s shoulder- instead, the pristine, clinical white clings to his lower stomach as well. Leave it to Hubert to minimize such grievous injuries. Dedue can feel the heat still radiating from his wounds- they must have been deep.

His brow furrows.

“What happened?”

“We were flanked. I should have seen it coming. I knew pushing forward would leave our rear troops open, but…” he falls silent, biting his lip and glancing down at his knees for a few moments. “They were intending to ambush Lady Edelgard, but I got to them first. This is the price for my ignorance, I suppose,” he gestures vaguely at his injuries. 

Dedue bites back a lecture. It is no use. Of course Hubert would leap to Edelgard’s side with little thought for his own life. Dedue would do the same for Dimitri. It is a courageous act to be sure, though, for the two of them it isn’t so much courage as it is second nature. He understands and, normally, such an action would be one he could easily accept. But this time… it’s different. Only slightly, but still different. There’s a realization gnawing at the back of his head: it would be quite unpleasant to lose Hubert. Whatever odd, nameless, and unpredictable dance they’ve fallen into gives him something entirely different to look forward to. Hours of the night like this would be much quieter, much lonelier without Hubert around.

“Lady Edelgard is lucky to have you,” he says simply, surprised at himself. Hubert isn’t his to lose.

Hubert looks up at him, like he has something he wants to say, but no words come. They sit in silence for several beats- it’s not uncomfortable, it never is, but the desire to say something  _ more  _ hangs in the air. 

“I brought food,” Dedue proffers, finally breaking the silence.

“I’ve eaten,” Hubert huffs, “Manuela saw to that.”

“Three bites makes for a poor meal.”

“If you had seen what they were trying to pass off as food in here, you’d agree with me,” Hubert scoffs. He leans back on his pillows.

“I cannot force you to eat,” Dedue sighs. He bends down to pick up the tray he’d set up on the floor, setting it gently on Hubert’s lap. “But perhaps I can tempt you to at least consider.”

Hubert lifts the lid of the dish, curious. His eyes widen for the briefest fraction of a second before his wicked smile returns.

“And tempt me you do.”

Dedue ignores the heat spreading in his cheeks, instead concentrating on Hubert as he turns back to his meal. Hubert is a picky eater, not something Dedue would have assumed. He eats so little in the first place, it’s hard to know what he really likes. Careful observation has led him to pinpoint a handful of dishes Hubert will allow himself to enjoy on occasion, when he’s not nursing his fourth or fifth cup of coffee for the day. This particular recipe is one Dedue has picked up from the monastery staff. Simple enough- a bone broth with fish and turnips and a handful of spices, though he’s added a few Duscur spices for taste. In most instances, he’d forgo the extra spices, but Hubert doesn’t seem to shy away from strong flavors like some of the others.

Hubert seems to be aware of Dedue’s eyes on him, careful to move slowly, still trying to conceal his pain. His movements are clumsy, shaky. He subtly winces at any range of motion, but still he soldiers on, refusing to grimace or cry out. Dedue thinks it best not to bring up the severity of his injury- it’s a miracle Hubert is even eating in the first place. He almost wonders if Manuela tried to feed Hubert to prevent him from using his arm. He can’t imagine that would have gone well. 

“Next time I will bring something easier to eat,” he remarks as he watches Hubert. “Had I known how extensive your injuries are, I would have prepared something accordingly.”

“There’s no need,” Hubert scoffs, “I can manage just fine. I don’t need to be coddled like some child.”

“You are not quite as adept at lying as you think you are,” he smiles. “You may not need to be coddled, but your arm will heal faster the less you use it. You enjoy fish dango, if I am not mistaken? I will bring some tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Hubert cocks an eyebrow.

“Yes, unless you plan on eating without complaint,” he jokes, “I cannot let you starve, can I?”

“Very well,” Hubert says slowly. He cannot tell if it’s a trick of his eyes or some illusion created by the low lighting, but his cheeks seem to hold more of a reddish hue than before. “I will look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

Dedue leans across the bed and blows out the candle- immediately the warm yellow hues illuminating Hubert’s gaunt face are drowned out by a cool blue. His narrow eye stands out against the darkness, holding Dedue transfixed. Hubert’s expression is serious as always, but there’s something about his stern features that Dedue finds… appealing. Handsome, in their own right. Dedue glances from Hubert’s visible eye, following the thin, straight line of his long nose, down to the thin line of his lips- for once not downturned into their usual frown.

Curiosity sparks somewhere in the back of his mind- his thoughts abruptly consumed with questions of what Hubert’s lips might feel like. If Hubert notices his lingering glance, he doesn’t say anything. Instead the world seems to slow as Dedue leans forward, his mind buzzing all the while. He was interested in Hubert, certainly, though up until this very moment he wasn’t aware it was more than a friendly interest. A mutual curiosity. With each inch he leans forward, he’s sure they’re crossing some point of no return, but he can’t manage to stop and Hubert doesn’t seem to be pulling away.

He’s close enough now to feel Hubert’s breath play against his skin. Dedue watches as his lips part, slowly. He closes his eyes, Hubert’s lips barely meeting his own, when loud footsteps in the hall cause them both to jump. Immediately, the distance between the two of them is widened- perhaps more so than before- and Dedue sits, frozen in the chair, waiting with bated breath.

Fortunately, it doesn’t seem the footsteps are headed into the infirmary itself. There’s a man’s voice he doesn’t recognize, but then a second voice… Professor Manuela. Accounting for the hour, it makes sense she would be returning to her quarters, likely expecting that whoever volunteered for evening infirmary duties would have long since finished by now.

“-Isanold opera trick,” Manuela slurs in perhaps the loudest whisper Dedue has ever heard in his life. “You hafta widen your throat to hit some of the higher notes. The lower ones too,” she giggles for no reason. “But I’m not here to teach you opera tricks… Isjust an innuendo.” 

A hiccup. The hinges on her door creak as she flings it open, assumedly to pull her suitor inside. After a beat or two, the door thuds shut with a finality.

Tension and silence hang in the air, leaving Dedue afraid to move, afraid to acknowledge what had almost transpired. 

“Promise me you will sleep,” he says, standing, putting an end to the awkward silence. 

“I’ll be lucky if I can’t hear them through the whole night,” he grumbles, “let alone actually manage to sleep.”

“I will be able to tell if you haven’t.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were testing my ability to turn you down, Molinaro,” he grins. “Nevertheless, you have my word. I know better than to displease someone who is preparing my food.” 


	3. Chapter 3

III. The Library, Horsebow Moon

Hubert doesn’t need to look up to know who is walking into the library at this hour. It has more to do with the fact that he knows no other students keep the same ungodly hours as he, and not at all because he recognizes the footfalls and the gait. Or, that’s what he tells himself.

“Don’t you ever rest, Molinaro?” he asks, casually brushing parchment aside, making a space beside him for Dedue to sit. 

“Do you?” Dedue asks, the hint of a smile playing across his lips.

“Not willingly,” he laughs.

“I do not mean to interrupt,” Dedue says, pulling up a chair, “Please, continue with your studies.”

Hubert returns to the (admittedly dull) textbook he’s poring over- ancient Adrestian battle formations and tactics. Topics he’s more than familiar with. Fortune occasionally works in his favor, and it seems it is on his side this evening as he’s prepared for his lessons in the morning. While he’s comfortable with the silence that sits between Dedue and himself, he finds it hard to truly absorb the scrawling text on the pages. Still, he keeps up the appearance of studiousness, taking scant notes in the margins of his book, flipping pages every few minutes when his eyes have reached the end of a sentence that he didn’t  _ actually  _ read.

It isn’t as though the two of them have made a habit of meeting up- at least not, usually- it just seems the two of them have decided to give up fighting it. If fate seems so determined that they run into each other at every corner, day after day, then so be it. The fact that Hubert  _ enjoys  _ these interactions, that he guiltily relishes in the opportunity to be  _ something  _ to  _ someone _ , that he cherishes the unlikely bond he’s formed with Dedue… these are all merely unexpected boons. He didn’t ask for them and he certainly won’t let them go anywhere, so there isn’t much harm in it. Hubert has the discipline to focus his attentions on Lady Edelgard’s every need at the sacrifice of his own free time, his health, his personal desires,  _ anything _ . It is rare that he’s found a companion with the same morals- Dedue never letting Hubert stand in the way of his responsibilities as Dimitri’s vassal. Which is perhaps why their… friendship works. And, at the end of the day, is it not in his best interests to keep an eye on Dedue- friend, enemy, or otherwise?

Granted, it must at least be admitted that Dedue is… distracting. Distracting in the way that his arm is just  _ barely  _ brushing against Hubert’s- impossible to tell if it’s accidental or intentional- simultaneously sending chills and heat waves rippling up and down his body. Distracting in the way that his mere presence fills Hubert’s head with brief recollections of how much closer they’ve been before, how they’ve exchanged breaths, how they’ve let their skin barely graze each other’s, but never actually come close enough to feel completely satisfied.

Hubert feels his stomach twist in knots. Around Dedue, when it’s just the two of them, his self-discipline seems to crumble. He hasn’t the capacity to force his mind to focus on menial tasks or keep up an air of disinterest- perhaps because the two of them have already skirted into unknown territory. His mind, his entire  _ being  _ is curious, a natural extension of one of the core tenets of Hubert’s character manifesting itself in a way he’d never thought possible.

He pretends to readjust- straightens his back, splays his arms out just a little further on the oak table, intentionally brushes his arm against Dedue’s, lightly trails his knuckles along the skin of Dedue’s wrist- testing the waters. It’s really the only way he knows how to initiate physical contact- it’s safe, easily brushed off as an accident if his advances aren’t something Dedue is actually looking for. But Dedue doesn’t pull back. He never does. Instead, he lets Hubert’s touch linger- holding perfectly still as though preserving the moment. To passersby, nothing is out of the ordinary, but after several moments of Hubert holding his breath, Dedue adjusts in his seat and returns the gentle brush of skin. He lets his knuckles rest against Hubert’s. For once, Hubert wishes he wasn’t wearing his gloves, but to remove them now would be obvious. Instead, he pauses a moment before lifting his hand and placing it atop Dedue’s. The angle is awkward- he’s never really been one for holding hands- but it feels… nice. He could almost see why others would like this sort of physical contact so much. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dedue shift in his seat and open his mouth to speak. Instead, a yawn permeates the silence, followed by the slow shuffling of feet.

Hubert’s eyes instantly snap up from the pages of his book and he quickly pulls away from Dedue, knowing they’re no longer alone. His hurried movements are careless and he accidentally knocks his tome off the table, sending it clattering to the floor with a solid thud. He doesn’t move to pick it up right away- for some reason his mind is successfully convincing him that if he holds his position, stiff and unnatural, no one will suspect anything out of the ordinary.

As anticipated, there’s a follow up to the yawn, and the footsteps grow nearer. Hubert isn’t sure Linhardt would have come investigating were it not for the sound of toppling books. But it’s too late for that now.

“Oh, it's just you two,” Linhardt mumbles, peeking his head around the corner of one of the bookshelves. He rubs his eyes. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’re up.”

“Yes, well, a vassal’s work is never done. Coursework must be completed eventually,” Hubert replies, still refusing to move a muscle.

“Dedue is up as well, I see,” Linhardt turns his gaze, ignoring Hubert’s response. He offers a nod in greeting before looking back at Hubert. ”I didn’t realize you were rethinking your stance on cross house friendships,” he teases.

“If you’re not careful, I just might rethink my stance on  _ inter  _ house friendships,” Hubert growls.

“Yes, yes, it was a poor joke,” Linhardt laughs, waving Hubert’s anger away. “I’ll leave you to your studies. I’d only just realized the hour when I looked up from my book. I’m long overdue for at least several hours of sleep,” he yawns again, “ I’ll likely miss the first lecture, but you’ll convey my sympathies, I trust.”

“Linhardt, I hardly think-”

“-You have my deepest gratitude,” Linhardt interrupts him with a deep, mock bow before turning on his heel and slumping out of the library.

“It is fortunate he’s quite intelligent,” Hubert mutters to no one in particular once the library is plunged back into its usual silence. 

He sighs, contorting in his chair and finally moving to pick up the thick tome that’s sitting on the floor. Instead of the familiar solid and worn cover, his fingers are met with the warmth of Dedue’s skin, tome already in his hand. He draws back for the second time that evening, apologetically, ignoring the fluttering in his chest.

Dedue seems to fight back a smile, instead, flipping open the tome, carefully examining the pages Hubert has dogeared. Hubert expects him only to glance for a moment, waiting for the sound of the thud of the tome closing. Dedue has confessed on more than one occasion that magic is nothing more than a passing interest, certainly not something he plans on taking painstaking efforts to learn- beyond what is required of him in his coursework, naturally. When the thud doesn’t come, Hubert glances over again. Dedue’s eyes seem to linger on the pages, transfixed on one spot somewhere in the center of the page. It’s immediately clear he isn’t  _ reading _ , but Hubert is unsure what could be capturing his interest so completely... 

All at once, the sudden realization of  _ which  _ tome has Dedue so entranced hits him full force in the chest. It takes everything in him not to reach over and pry the book out of his hands- to do so would be to admit embarrassment, to admit that he had something worth hiding in the pages. Instead, he remains still, waiting for some sort of reaction, refusing to betray the thoughts currently racing through his head.

Dedue lets out a short huff, a laugh through his nose. 

“Uncharacteristically saccharine of you,” he says after a beat, offering the book back to Hubert.

He leaves the pages open, making it obvious just what had him so intrigued, as if Hubert isn’t already painfully aware. The flash of the weeping star’s bright blue hues stand out sharply against the dull, faded tones of the parchment. The notes he’s scribbled in the margins are barely legible through the thin petals pressed against the pages, as if to mock him for his sentimentality. 

While he’s never particularly cared for pretty or fragile things, he finds himself holding onto each flower Dedue gifts him. The weeping star, of course, being the first flower he was ever given. Dedue’s favorite Duscur flower, or so Hubert has learned.

Despite sharing an interest in horticulture, Dedue’s approach to the hobby is almost entirely opposite Hubert, growing his plants purely for the pleasure of it. He wants others to be able to appreciate the flora of Duscur, to keep it alive. Naturally, Hubert has a curiosity surrounding Duscur flora, there’s so little that’s been documented in books and studies, and he’s eager to learn additional uses and new poisons. But he hasn’t managed to turn any of Dedue’s plants into his own experiments. For reasons unbeknownst to him, he can’t bring himself to destroy the flowers by pulling the petals from the stem or pressing the pollen into oils. Instead, he’s content looking at the striking hues and foreign shapes, content with the information Dedue gives him on their practical uses, content to lazily drag his fingertips over the flowers pressed into the pages of his tomes, content to let the fading scents call memories of Dedue to mind.

“Perhaps I’m saving it to study its properties later,” he lies, snatching his tome back and snapping it shut. His face is on fire. He  _ isn’t  _ the sentimental type, but he has no other explanation as to why the weeping star is pressed into the pages of his favorite tome. Dried plants are only so useful for studies- it’s best to have a living specimen- and Hubert is sure Dedue knows this. 

“I hope it proves useful,” is all he says, the hint of a smile on his lips as he turns back to his studies.


	4. Chapter 4

IV. The Cathedral, Wyvern Moon

Letters are easy. Simple. Small. No one is privy to the amount of time taken to carefully think over the words that ultimately end up immortalized on the parchment, no one needs to see the piles of sheets that get tossed into the fire for not quite capturing the appropriate intentions or revealing far too much. If Dedue could, he’d almost much rather communicate with other students through letters- only a handful of exceptions coming to mind.

It isn’t that Dedue isn’t a skilled orator. Language and speech are truly fascinating to him, and he enjoys speaking freely when the opportunity presents itself. More often than not, circumstance dictates, however, that he must put more thought into his words than he’d like. Not only his words, but his actions. The way he carries himself. The way he looks at others. And even when carefully executed, others seem determined to read a nonexistent harshness into his every movement. Finding someone to communicate openly with, judgement and apprehension completely absent, is a rare gift- almost an impossibility. In an odd twist of fate, or even a cruel one, the one person outside of Dimitri he finds himself comfortable communicating with, is Hubert von Vestra. The only other person within the monastery that seems to prefer silence in place of conversation. 

Hubert’s reputation precedes him, of course, which is perhaps why their conversations come so easily in the first place. Whispers and careful glances follow him just as pervasively as they do Dedue. Falling in with someone regarded so carefully and callously by the other students comes naturally- it is easy to dispense with the concerns of what others may say or think when the certainty that they will speak, and that they will speak unkindly, is ever present.

When they do have the ability to stop and speak with one another, none of the common pitfalls are there. Hubert is not looking to trap him in a poorly phrased sentiment, he’s not put off by the number of words Dedue chooses to use or not use, he’s not awkwardly trying to fill the silence. Because the typical concerns and excuses are so easily brushed aside, once conversation bubbles to their lips, it is easy to keep the pace. Easy to find topics, easy to confide in someone who understands him in a way no one else can. There are parts of him Hubert will never be able to understand as intimately as Dimitri, he knows this. Yet the other parts… parts that will always remain a mystery to Dimitri and Dedue’s other classmates are so easily laid bare in the palms of Hubert’s hands. Despite his reputation for cruelty and callousness, Hubert treats these parts of Dedue gently. Coaxes them to the light. Bares the same parts of himself despite his secretive nature. Wordlessly, they focus on these similarities and the ways they seem to mesh perfectly together, consciously ignoring or the ways in which they don’t.

Still, his growing closeness with Hubert hasn’t escaped the attention of others. Some of his classmates interrogate him about it, meaning well, hoping to point out issues or challenges Dedue hasn’t already thought of himself. He hates the reminders. He hates defending himself and repeating over and over that none of this matters, that it’s impermanent, fleeting- more so because he’s slowly coming to realize it’s only trivial because it  _ has  _ to be, and he’s realizing he wishes that weren’t the case. That there was some future for them beyond the walls of Garreg Mach.

But there isn’t. And if what they have- if they have anything at all- must be contained within the impartial, unfeeling walls of the monastery, then so be it.

He counts- three over, two down, and practiced fingers find he dip in the lower left corner of the stone. Slowly, he pulls it from the wall, eagerly peering into the vacant, hollow slot left behind. Hubert has come by it seems, a small parcel waiting for Dedue in place of the letter he left earlier that morning. 

Yes. Letters are easy. 

Hubert won’t know the number of times he’s restarted even the simplest message. It isn’t that he doesn’t have the words or a depth of confusing emotions he’d like to be able to describe, it’s that he always wants to string the right words together without giving away too much, which has proven to be a rather difficult task. 

Dedue can’t remember the exact month they started exchanging letters and gifts. Their friendship, their comfort in each other’s companionship seemed to develop quickly despite their reluctance, and, because of the demands of their duties, they have little time to spare for each other. Instead, the monastery itself seemed to offer them a solution, as though fate was stepping in once more. Surely Hubert and Dedue aren’t the first to discover the cathedral has such a clever hiding place, but none of their messages or gifts have been disturbed thus far.

He pulls the neatly wrapped parcel from its hiding place, replacing the stone. A quick glance around the cathedral tells him he’s still alone, so he walks to one of the pews and sits, turning over the parcel in his hands. There’s a letter tucked behind the strings.

He leaves the parcel unopened, deciding to read the letter first. It slides out easily from underneath the strings wrapped around the package. He slowly unfurls the parchment. Hubert’s neat writing is scrawled across the page- slender, sharp letters, simple and easy to read.

_ Dedue- _

_ I feel I would be remiss if I did not offer some sort of sentiment for your birthday, no matter how belated. And so, first, my sincerest apologies for the lateness of this gift. I’ve given a lot of thought to the matter, understanding of course your explicit statement you were not complaining or asking for reparations when you mentioned your birthday some weeks ago. Consider it something of a compromise. It is a gift, yes, and you may mock me for my sentimentality if you wish, but it is a practical gift. Write it off as a friend providing something you need, if you must. I am happy to fulfill your needs while I still can. _

_ I shall forgo the typical flowery birthday speech, as I’m sure you can appreciate. Suffice it to say, as curious as it may be that fate has placed you in my path, I am grateful. I know your birthday was not one filled to the brim with joy, but I do find myself wishing it’s the first and last birthday of such a nature. As for your gift, I hope you find good use for it. In fact, I think I should be honored if I find your next letter to me bearing evidence you’ve put it to use, though surely you have far better applications for such an item. _

_ Yours, _

_ Hubert _

A smirk pulls at the corners of Dedue’s lips. Curious, he turns his attention to the small parcel he set on the pew. It’s odd that Hubert would feel any sort of obligation to acknowledge his birthday, but it’s appreciated all the same. Birthday gifts are… not common for him. Dimitri would shower him with lavish gifts and celebrations if he could, if Dedue weren’t insistent on brushing off his efforts and maintaining he isn’t worth the extra attention. Despite all his protests, Dimitri still offers something thoughtful each year. Even this year, when they were headed to battle, Dedue found a thoughtful gift waiting for him. It seems Hubert is somewhat the same. Dedue had only casually mentioned his birthday, in fact, he was certain it wasn’t even the focal point of the story he was trying to tell, yet Hubert- keen as ever- picked up on the small details, somewhere along the way making a mental note to procure a gift.

The thin wrapping paper peels easily away, revealing a small, sleek looking wooden box. Plain, but beautifully crafted. The hinges of the box are completely silent as he slowly opens the lid, peering inside. He pulls out a small object nestled in amongst the deep red velvet lining, examining it closely. 

A wax seal stamp. 

It’s a solid dark metal, weighty in his hand despite its size. He turns it over and over in his hands, drinking in every detail. He has so few possessions, fewer still that he prizes- material objects, mere  _ things,  _ have stopped meaning as much to him as they once could have- though he knows immediately this is an item he will cherish for the rest of his days. He stops to examine the design of the press itself, wondering what sort of image Hubert decided best fit him.

As he studies the design, he can feel his heartbeat quicken and stop all in the same moment. 

It’s a weeping star.


	5. Chapter 5

V. The Pond, Red Wolf Moon

Now that “Monica” is back, Hubert is more on edge than ever before. He would have thought having Kronya close by, somewhere easy to keep an eye on, would have brought some sort of peace. Somehow, it makes things worse. He feels chills down to his core, anxiety he hasn’t felt since he was a boy, a constant fear that Lady Edelgard’s carefully plotted plan is only a breath away from falling apart now that Kronya has so boldly thrown herself into their midst. She spends every waking moment by Lady Edelgard’s side, and each time he’s forced to address her, his skin crawls. He isn’t secretive about his disdain, of course. Kronya simply isn’t bothered.

He knows it would do nothing more than topple Lady Edelgard’s plans and make enemies of the only allies they have to speak of, he  _ knows  _ this, but he wants nothing more than to dispose of Kronya. To find another way forward without the help of the Agarthans. To find a way for Lady Edelgard to never know their filth and stench ever again. If there is a way, he certainly doesn’t see it.

Instead, he’s left to pace back and forth through the halls of the monastery and, for the first time, wonder what is happening behind closed doors. Lady Edelgard fills him in on the details later, of course. She trusts him in all things and he is grateful for this, though it does nothing to ease his nerves.

The only time Kronya seems to leave Lady Edelgard alone is when they sleep- something Hubert has somehow been getting even  _ less  _ of in the current circumstances. He finds his sleep is often plagued with dreams of different scenarios of failure, of death, of futures in which the blood staining his hands red is not the blood of his enemies, but the blood of Lady Edelgard- and suddenly he feels like a ten year old boy again, helpless, unable to protect someone he loves so dearly. As much as he’d like to fill his sleepless nights by taking up a post outside Lady Edelgard’s room, remaining vigilant and ensuring she remains unharmed, vassal or no, standing at her door the entire night would hardly be proper. At the very least,  _ she _ seems to be sleeping soundly- something rare enough he doesn’t dare interrupt. 

Instead, in recent nights, he finds himself at the dock, sitting cross-legged at the edge, eyes closed, listening to each and every disturbance in the water. The soft ripples bring gentle reassurance. 

Lady Edelgard is safe.

Even with so many Agarthans so close, he is here this time. He can keep an eye on her.

Everything is moving according to plan.

“Would you care for company?” Dedue’s voice breaks into his thoughts.

Well, almost everything.

Wordlessly, Hubert shifts slightly to the side, making space for Dedue to sit beside him. He’s long since stopped being surprised at Dedue’s appearances. Somehow, they always manage to find each other- intentionally or not. He never thought he’d be  _ grateful _ for Dedue’s presence, but the second he sees Dedue slowly sink to a seated position by his side, he feels calm. Comforted in a way he’s never felt before.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Hubert replies, dodging the question, “and my mind is gravitating toward… unsavory thoughts.”

“A dream?” Dedue asks, perceptive as always.

“Something like that,” Hubert hums in response. “Are you ever… plagued by the possible outcomes of your failures? About what would happen should you fail in your duty to protect Dimitri?"

"At times," he answers simply. "Though, His Highness and I are fortunate to have many others that would step in and resolve any failures or shortcomings on my part. Surely that is the case for yourself and Lady Edelgard."

"It is. Though, I'm sure you share my distaste in trusting others to take over your responsibilities," he clicks his tongue. “There are tasks she can only trust me with,” he continues, surprised at himself, "And brutal as some of them may be, I do not regret any of them. In fact I enjoy carrying the heavy burdens she cannot entrust to anyone else. My only fear is that the blood on my hands may one day end up being hers. That there are things I cannot protect her from.  _ That _ is what keeps me up at night.” 

And that’s where his confession must stop. He cannot truly reveal his feelings and why he worries for Lady Edelgard, but he trusts Dedue can understand well enough without the extra explanation. 

Thunder rumbles in the distance.

“I have little nostalgia for Enbarr itself, but the sound of the pond is familiar enough to put my mind at ease,” Hubert continues. “It helps calm my mind if only just a little.”

Dedue hums in acknowledgement beside him. They sit in silence for several moments, Hubert’s words hanging in the air. Hubert realizes he hasn’t stopped rubbing his hands together, his skin tinged an unusual pink. He stops, instead glancing over at Dedue out of the corner of his eye. Dedue’s body is angled forward, fingers gripping the edge of the dock, face turned upward and eyes closed, the gentle breeze lightly ruffling his hair. His expression would be peaceful were it not for his furrowed brow- a telltale sign he’s lost in thought. Hubert wonders what he’s thinking about, but selfishly, wants to pull Dedue back to him. Wants to bask in his presence and escape his own thoughts.

Uncharacteristically bold, he leans forward, mirroring Dedue’s pose, their hands mere inches away, and splays his fingers. Slowly. Timidly. Surprised when he finally, barely makes contact with the solid warmth of Dedue’s hand. He at least has the courage to keep still, but he can’t take it any farther, unwilling to leave the safety of the edge, leaving an easy exit for Dedue if he desires it. Somewhere, in the pit of his gut, he knows Dedue doesn’t. That he’ll stay. He’s never pulled away before. In fact, they’ve only always inched closer, but never quite close enough. Whatever their relationship is, it seems a sad pile of  _ almosts _ . Almost touches. Almost kisses. Almost confessions. Almost fulfilled desires. 

They are each other’s  _ almost.  _ And that should be enough. And it is, but somehow it isn’t. His stomach twists in familiar knots.

Things like desire and love are vulgar. Weak. Selfish. 

And yet, here, on the dock, his arm pressed against Dedue’s, Hubert finds himself indulging in unspeakable vulgarity. He finds himself realizing that there might  _ actually _ be a word for what he feels, realizing he’ll never have the courage to say or admit it. Realizing he cannot truly act on it if he wants to fulfill his duty to Lady Edelgard. Realizing he hopes Dedue holds the same selfishness in his heart, the same secret and purposefully unnamed emotion.

He looks down, pretending his heart isn’t hammering in his chest, pretending to study the knees of his uniform, pretending his eyes are following the grain in the wood on the dock,  _ anything  _ to distract from how aware he is that Dedue is so close and having such a curious effect on him.

Dedue doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look over at him, doesn’t draw back. Instead, he acts with the same slowness, lifting his pinky finger and wrapping it around Hubert’s. Hubert glances down at their hands, surprised at the sudden contact despite the fact that it is exactly what he wanted but didn’t have the fortitude to ask for. He can’t help but note how Dedue’s skin- practically perfect and unmarred- somehow increases the unsightliness of his own- scarred and dying. 

Part of the price he pays for his mastery and repeated use of dark magic is the loss of sensation in his fingers, yet Dedue’s touch seems to awaken a long dormant ability to feel. A chill ripples through him despite the searing warmth spreading from the place his flesh connects with Dedue’s.

“You are not wearing your gloves,” he notes, finally turning to look at Hubert.

Hubert looks up at him, opening and closing his mouth a number of times, unsure what to say. His instinct is to apologize, though he’s not entirely sure why.

A smile flickers briefly across Dedue’s face as he lifts Hubert’s hand, the two of them still holding pinkies, and brings his knuckles to his lips. His touch is so soft and warm and  _ comforting _ . His throat swells, leaving him to silently stare at Dedue, surely coming across as a fool.

“Your hands will get cold.”

“They feel quite warm at present,” Hubert whispers. He means to respond at a normal volume, but his voice catches in his throat.

His gaze remains locked with Dedue’s, both of them entirely still, drinking each other in, as though perfectly content to just touch like this. And yet, Hubert feels himself drawing closer to Dedue, his eyes wandering down to his lips- the age old curiosity returning all at once.

“Dedue, I-” he stops speaking almost as immediately as he starts, unsure what exactly he wants to say. He brings a hand to Dedue’s cheek, his heart leaping at the way Dedue leans into his touch. He finds the courage to lean forward once more, Dedue mirroring his movements, until their lips are only a breath apart...

Thick raindrops start falling from the sky, thudding loudly on the wood of the dock, plunking with a finality against the surface of the pond, soaking through their clothing in a matter of seconds.

Dedue pulls away with a laugh- quiet and rumbling- but the sound is almost as satisfying as a kiss would have been. Almost.

“A sign you should sleep, I think” Dedue says, pulling off his uniform jacket and holding it over their heads as he helps Hubert to his feet.

Purposefully, intentionally, they run hand in hand back to the safety of the dormitory halls.


	6. Chapter 6

VI. The Goddess Tower, Ethereal Moon

Four glasses of wine in, and he thought he’d have a much easier time at the ball. He eyes the entrance to the main hall, almost jealous of the couples sneaking out when Seteth isn’t looking. 

Almost. 

It’s easy to guess where the students are sneaking off  _ to _ , putting stock in ridiculous rumors and wasting their time wishing for the goddess to grant them things like love and eternal happiness, when their breath is better spent  _ fighting _ for it. 

His eyes drift through the throngs of students and he pretends he isn’t looking for Dedue. Dedue who, much like Hubert, sticks out like a sore thumb at events like these. He tries to ignore the way his mouth goes dry when he does not see the familiar flash of silver hair and pensive, clear eyes.

Wishing gets you nowhere.

“Thinking of sneaking out?” Edelgard laughs at his elbow, bringing his attention back to the present. 

“My Lady,” Hubert says, turning to her and offering a deep bow, “of course not.”

“Good,” she says, putting a glass of her own down on the table beside them. She smiles up at him, flicking her long hair behind her shoulder. He feels a hint of pride that the braids he’s styled for her are holding up rather well. She looks quite elegant. Regal. “If you’d vanished before asking me to dance, I’d be quite cross with you.”

“While I would never say no to a request of yours, My Lady, surely there are other partners more suited to your tastes. More fitting for someone of your station.”

“You know I don’t care about that,” she waves away his suggestion with a flick of her hand. “I want to spend time with you.”

“That is a command I can certainly fulfill,” he offers a smile, holding out a gloved hand.

“It isn’t a command,” she laughs, clicking her tongue, but accepts his hand. The music starts up, slowly at first. It’s an Adrestian folk dance, fortunately- one that Hubert could do in his sleep.

“You’re looking for him, aren’t you?” Edelgard asks as they sway, the left corner of her mouth turned up into a smile.

“I’m sure I haven’t the slightest idea who you’re talking about,” Hubert feigns ignorance. Of course Lady Edelgard has taken notice of his connection with Dedue. They haven’t really spoken much of it beyond the occasional reassurance his… dalliances are not preventing him from carrying out their plans.

“He left a couple minutes ago,” she says, not buying his ignorance for even a moment. “You missed your opportunity to dance with him, it seems.”

“I don’t dance,” he scoffs.

“Oh? Then whatever are we doing here?”

“I am doing this for  _ you,  _ my Lady,” he clarifies. “I would gladly do anything for you,  _ including  _ dance. As such, any partners I take up for the evening are meant to reflect kindly upon your image. To dance with Dedue is… Well, it’s completely unnecessary. You do not stand to benefit from it.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Nor do I,” he adds quickly. “It means nothing to me that he has taken his leave.”

“If you insist,” she says, the smile still present in her voice. 

“Even if I had wanted to do such a thing, you must understand  _ nothing  _ would pull me from your side.”

“It isn't wrong to want things, Hubert,” she laughs again. “But…” her voice trails off and her gaze drifts to the left, the way it always does when she’s carefully regarding what to say next. The music slows and, as Hubert dips her she squeezes his arm.

“As always, I am grateful to have you by my side,” she curtsies once he pulls her upright and the music ends. He bows in return, keeping his eyes to the ground. She ruffles his hair playfully, something she hasn’t done since they were children. He feels an odd pang of comfort at the action.

She won’t say it, but even  _ she  _ recognizes the one person Hubert wants is the one he can’t have. That eventually, he’ll reach a crossroads and have to choose between two things that are very important to him. But his mind is already made up. He and Dedue… won’t work. It doesn’t matter how well they get along here in the Academy, it doesn’t matter how many times Dedue has taken his hand, or how many letters and gifts they’ve exchanged, how many times they’ve met up in secret- their time together has an expiration date. He’s known this from the beginning. Dedue has too, though they’ve never spoken of it. Perhaps it’s why they’ve repeated to themselves that each time they’ve brushed skin or intertwined fingers or almost kissed, means nothing. Almost as though the more they say those words aloud, the more they can convince themselves it was the truth.

“Now get out of here,” she says, her serious demeanor melting quickly away. “You’ve spent enough time at the ball to fulfill your duty. Besides, if Dimitri’s vassal is already missing from the event, it won’t look out of the ordinary if mine is too,” she winks.

“My Lady-”

“ _ Go _ ,” she laughs, giving him a playful shove.

\---

Hubert’s attempts to convince himself that he’s wandering aimlessly- no  _ real  _ destination in mind- are truly futile. He’s looking for Dedue, of  _ course  _ he’s looking for Dedue. Lady Edelgard’s reminder that ‘ _ it isn’t wrong to want things’  _ keeps floating to mind. He wants to be with Dedue.

His feet stop once he reaches the Goddess Tower and he’s immediately consumed with a deep embarrassment. It’s quieter than he expected. This close to the Goddess Tower, he assumed there would be small swarms of students, despite the repeated reminders from Seteth and other faculty that the tower is off limits. It seems there isn’t another soul in sight. He can’t exactly picture Dedue running off to the Goddess Tower on a night like this, but it’s unlikely that he’s anywhere else. The greenhouse is too far from Dimitri’s presence in the grand hall. It’s too early for sleep. But here, on the outskirts of the monastery building, where he can hear the music pouring from the grand hall gently lilt across the monastery grounds, it’s close enough. Close enough, yet far enough all at the same time. 

His suspicions are confirmed after a quick cursory glance of his surroundings. Dedue is just a few yards ahead, resting his elbows on the edge of the stone, looking out onto the monastery grounds. His gold earring glistens brightly. He’s wearing a tunic of deep blue, tailored tighter to his frame than his academy uniform, patterns of silver and gold sewn into the silk fabric. He looks positively radiant.

Hubert leans against the wall, crossing his arms and silently observing. Dedue doesn’t seem to notice his presence. He’d never in a million years pictured himself here. On this night, of all nights. There’s a fluttering in his stomach. 

“I never pegged you as one to take stock in rumors and useless romantic drivel,” Hubert says finally. Dedue turns to look at him, straightening his posture, the corners of his lips turning up into the faintest smile.

“I needed a moment away from the crowds,” Dedue shrugs. “And I will admit to being a bit curious. I would not stand to lose anything by carrying a wish for the goddess to grant, tonight of all nights.” 

“So you do have a wish, then.”

“Perhaps,” he smiles. “What brings you here? Does this mean, then, that you are the kind of person who puts his faith in rumors?” He teases.

Hubert laughs. Louder than he means to. The moon is so  _ bright _ , the soft light illuminating Dedue’s figure in such a handsome, captivating way.

Inexplicably, he’s shaking.

“Faith isn’t something I have the capability of possessing.”

Dedue raises a curious eyebrow, encouraging him to continue, daring him to prove he isn’t secretly wishing Sothis, or whatever higher powers may be, take pity on him and extend their hand, just  _ once _ , to grant him the thing he wants most.

“I was… looking for something,” Hubert says finally.

He closes his mouth before he admits too much. It’s all part of the game they play- they never reveal their hands or their true intentions, however obvious their desires and ploys may be. Instead, they trade short quips, sentences loaded with meaning. Part of him wants to say damn their games, their etiquette, and their unspoken rules, but even if he did, he doesn’t have the words. What would he say? What would he confess? The feelings in his heart are nothing more than a muddy mess, unclear and impossible to describe- words like love and affection seem cheap and tawdry. Inadequate descriptions for the emotions constantly bubbling to the surface, always threatening to spill over, always threatening to drag him into the depths- their true nature is certainly not something he can ever hope to make sense of. Perhaps it is the same for Dedue. 

Perhaps that is why they play their little game. Neither of them know what to make of the feelings taking root in their hearts. Do they acknowledge them, speak them into a very real existence, let them grow out in the open- their vulnerabilities bare for each other? Or do they trim them back, keep them in check in the hopes that, one day, they will die out and they can both pretend these feelings never grew in the first place? 

Without an answer, he takes a step closer, the air thick with silence between the two of them. What he and Dedue aren’t saying seems to fill the space just as loudly as if Hubert were the kind of person to scream his desire from the top of his lungs.

Dedue’s eyes search his face, carefully. Slowly. Softly. Suddenly they’re standing close enough that Hubert can feel Dedue’s breath gently brush against his skin.

“And did you find what you were looking for?” Dedue asks.

It feels only natural when their hands find each other in lieu of a verbal reply- a practiced dance they’ve been through so many times- their fingers interlacing. Hubert almost finds it funny, a non-believer and a foreigner in one of the most coveted locales of the evening. 

He can’t speak for Dedue of course, but he’s never placed much stock in the goddess- which is just as well. He doubts she’d have the inclination to give him anything he wanted in the first place. All the same, Hubert hasn’t a wish for her to fulfill. Dedue is here. Here with  _ him _ , and he wants for nothing else. The reality is, Dedue’s presence, his touch... it’s so much more than any goddess or deity could ever offer. 

Hubert is rooted to the spot as Dedue moves closer still, the gap between the two of them shrinking with a slow surety, yet still feeling like a chasm. When their chests touch, he wonders if Dedue can feel his heart pounding. He wonders if Dedue can feel him shaking under his firm, far more confident touch. He wonders if this feels as  _ right  _ and good to Dedue as it does to Hubert.

His answer comes gently. Dedue glances down at his mouth for the briefest of moments, lightly brushing their lips together. Though hardly there, the sensation is overwhelming, sending sparks to his extremities, making his breath hitch in his chest. Hubert remains frozen- he wants to pinch himself, to confirm that  _ yes  _ this is reality and not just another one of his foolish daydreams he’s been so distracted by as of late.

When he doesn’t move, Dedue pulls away ever so slightly and Hubert can practically hear the apology on the tip of his tongue. His eyes search Hubert’s face, looking for an answer, for permission. There are a hundred thoughts in Hubert’s head, none of them coherent, so he translates them the only way he knows how. 

He reaches forward, cupping Dedue’s face in his hands, pulling him closer. 

Dedue’s lips- the actual  _ feel  _ of them, not the feather light touches or the barely-there kisses they’ve shared or almost shared over the months- is everything Hubert ever imagined they would be. They are warm and soft and gentle. And when Dedue kisses him back, over and over and over again, they are pliant and sweet, confident and intoxicating, like nothing Hubert has ever experienced before in his life.

When they break apart, Dedue rests his head against Hubert’s, his eyes closed, his breathing uneven- the erratic pace somehow matching perfectly with his own.

“Funny you should ask. I found something I  _ wasn’t  _ looking for,” he whispers. “But I’m glad I found it,” he takes Dedue’s hand in his own. With his free hand, Dedue tilts Hubert’s chin up to meet his gaze. His smile is barely there, but his eyes are alight with satisfaction, joy- his cheeks dusted with a rosy hue.

As a response, Dedue presses another kiss to his lips, then to the corner of his mouth, then to his jaw, his lips trailing down to Hubert’s neck.

“And what of your wish?” he manages to ask.

He feels Dedue laugh lightly against his skin.

“It has been granted.”

He doesn’t believe. He  _ doesn’t  _ believe. He tells himself this with every reverent kiss Dedue presses to his skin. Yet, when Dedue’s lips find his own for what feels like the hundredth time that evening, he feels he could be a believer yet- his cry of surprise at the softness Dedue’s lips something of a reverent hymn, a wordless prayer, though the only thing he believes in with a surety is Dedue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sehnsucht- Noun, German. “The inconsolable longing of the human heart for we know not what”; a high degree of intense, recurring and often painful desire for something, particularly if there’s no hope to attain the desired or when its attainment is uncertain, still far away.


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